


Woman's Own

by TygerTyger



Series: Kink Meme Stories and General Smut [8]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Misunderstanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-07
Updated: 2012-05-07
Packaged: 2017-11-04 23:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TygerTyger/pseuds/TygerTyger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy notices Rory's near obsession with <i>Woman's Own</i> magazine, but she's not quite sure why she finds that so hot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Woman's Own

**Author's Note:**

> _Woman's Own_ is a UK magazine that is aimed at older women. My mother-in-law gets it, which is why I have such an intimate knowledge of its contents. Although, that said, I have had lustful thoughts about knitting patterns in the past...

Amy rolled over onto her front, hand wedged between her legs, rubbing a rough circle. It was no use; she was too distracted. _Bloody exams._   Her next one was in the morning and she really needed to sleep if she had any hope of scraping a pass. But her mind wouldn’t let up; it just kept racing. And now her usual soporific wasn’t working either. She thumped her pillow in frustration and flopped onto her back, shoving her hands under her head with a heavy sigh.

It was normally so easy; a few minutes’ work and she could be drifting off, pleasantly tingling with post climactic satisfaction. She’d usually only need to think of something mildly saucy to get her to the finish line, but this time she couldn’t keep her concentration long enough to even get warmed up.

She wondered how boys did it. From what she heard, they only needed to look at a dirty mag to be able to get off. Any time she looked at one, she got distracted by the hairlessness, or the crazy long fingernails, or the stupid ‘sexy’ looks on the girls’ faces — was that what boys found hot?

The only boy she knew well enough to even think about asking was Rory, but there was still absolutely no way. She’d been in his room a million times but hadn’t seen any evidence of his wank material. The only magazine she’d ever seen him show an interest in was her Mum’s _Woman’s Own_.

Come to think of it, he did have a bit of an obsession with it. Anytime he’d come over and it was left on the front room coffee table, he’d make a beeline for it. He’d flick through it on his lap, blushing away at the true-life stories, or the soap spoilers. Sometimes he’d even take it home with him. Holding it over his—

_Oh my god!_

And there it was, planted in her brain, the image of Rory wanking over _Woman’s Own_.  It was really so, so wrong. But, _oh fuck_ , it was making her want to try to ‘count sheep’ again. She thought about it for a split-second, but decided that she really needed to pass that exam. And that was really the only reason her hands were sliding down over her body, one into her knickers and the other groping a breast.

She thought about Rory, bent over the open mag on his study desk, cock in hand. Reading titillating details about Pat Butcher’s torrid affair with Patrick Trueman in _Eastenders_ as he stoked himself, _the perv_. Amy may have giggled at the image, but it was making her hot in such a way that she decided she must be just as pervy.

She slid her fingers down to gather up some of her fresh wetness and used it to make a slippy pattern across her clit. She adjusted her hips to get comfortable and shoved her free hand up under her oversized t-shirt and grabbed her breast roughly, capturing her peaked nipple between the length of two of her fingers and rolling it as she squeezed.

She imagined him again, naked now, his face red as he pumped his cock, its head disappearing and reappearing beneath the cage of his fingers, like an obscene zoetrope. She imagined his stomach, all sinewy and sweating, and the muscles of his arm, defined, as he worked hard to make himself come. Her fingers worked faster as she held the image in her mind.

She saw him break apart and moan, body jerking, scrunching the magazine in his free hand and shooting a line of spunk across the page with the knitting pattern for a ladies’ cardigan. _Filthy bugger!_

Amy let out a strangled sound that fell somewhere between a guffaw and a groan as she laugh-came thinking of Rory spurting all over her Mum’s favourite mag. She rolled onto her stomach again, using her pillow to muffle her laughter until it ebbed into a grin.

She slept like the dead and aced her exam.

 

*   *   *

 

Rory was sitting in Amy’s front room, the telly was on in the corner and they were all silent, he and Amy and Mels. Amy was texting and swirling a lucky strand of her auburn locks around a lucky finger. Mels was sitting sideways on an armchair with her legs slung over the arm, staring dead-eyed at a _Horizon_ documentary on particle physics — she really had the most surprisingly varied taste in things.

Amy was wearing that skirt again. The short one, the one that stopped right below her bum, but when she sat down rode up at the back in such a way that her skin was in direct contact with the seat. He couldn’t help but imagine her sitting on his lap in that skirt and feeling her soft arse on his leg, knowing that all that lay between him and her skin was his trouser leg. But then this was imagination, so he put himself in shorts and, _Oh,_ there it was again. _Shit_.

He looked for his trusty saviour and saw it peeping out from under the plate of scones Amy’s mum had left for them. He leaned forward as coolly as possible and slid the _Woman’s Own_ out from under the plate and onto his lap in one smooth movement, covering his issue perfectly. He began to flick through the inanity with practiced nonchalance.

He caught Amy staring at him. Her hands had paused; both the one on her phone and the other in her hair, the strand freeing itself from the coil, leaving her holding her finger up and gawping red-cheeked at him.

Amy Pond: blushing.

“What?” he asked casually.

“Oh, nothing, nothing. Erm. Good magazine?”

“Eh. Yeah, I suppose. Very interesting…articles.”

“Right.”

She was definitely blushing. He looked at the magazine and the page he had open. _I Love Breastfeeding my Husband_ , he read, and there were photos. _Eugh!_ But Amy was blushing, and this was more cause for her regular mockery than embarrassment.

 _Unless… Oh god, she didn’t find this hot, did she?_ He looked at her again and there was definitely something vaguely lustful about her shame. He had often wondered what it was that turned her on, but never in a million years would he have guessed that it was this. Boner killed, he slid the magazine back onto the coffee table and she glanced up at him again with a hint of anxiety.

She stared at the magazine on the table and her eyes glazed slightly. All he could think about was what she would do, thinking about that article, when she was alone in her bed. He cleared his throat and awkwardly readjusted himself in the chair to mask the fresh stirrings in his trousers.

Amy’s eyes were almost wild, darting over and back between Rory and the magazine. Could she tell what he was thinking? He looked nervously at the magazine and back at Amy; he didn’t dare ask.

Then the magazine was snatched from off the table and their eyes followed it up into Mels’ hands, where she started flicking through.

“Fucking Perverts.” Mels said.

Rory spluttered.

“What?” Amy squeaked.

Mels looked up from the magazine at the two of them, seemingly taken aback. She turned it around, “This pervert, breastfeeding her pervert husband.”

Rory laughed, relieved. “Yeah, that’s sick.”

“And talking to a magazine about it. And the pictures! Disgusting.” Amy concurred, protesting a little too much, Rory thought.

He left when his hard-on had finally abated enough for him to walk normally rather than bring the magazine with him as a shield this time around. He figured Amy might need it.


End file.
